


5 Times Bull Took Care of Dorian + 1 Time Dorian Took Care of Bull

by ohgeelato



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff, M/M, Mild Angst, mainly fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 13:26:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3328283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohgeelato/pseuds/ohgeelato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin. A few vignettes that sort of interlinks about Bull and Dorian's blossoming relationship. Absolute, complete fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Times Bull Took Care of Dorian + 1 Time Dorian Took Care of Bull

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone has seen my post going around Tumblr about Bull going to the library to convince an overworked Dorian to sleep, this whole thing basically grew out of that really short drabble.

**I.**

Dorian was not a happy camper. They were in Emprise du Lion again and it was _freezing_. Trevelyan had told them she wanted to close some of the remnant rifts in the area and had somehow convinced Dorian to come along despite it being to _Emprise du Lion_. No wonder she had practically all of southern Thedas wrapped around her finger, if she could persuade Dorian to go to Emprise du Lion willingly. She had also gotten the Iron Bull and Cassandra to come along, but Dorian was sure those two had required a lot less convincing.

And they’ve been walking for what seems like forever to Dorian without finding a single rift.

“How do you southerners stand the cold?” Dorian asked, irritated that he seems to be the only one who seems even remotely bothered by the biting chill. Or the _snow_. He’d never even seen snow in his life before leaving Tevinter and now that’s all he could see. Dorian looked splendid in white, but he’s realized that one can have too much of a good thing.

The others ignored his comment. They’d gotten used to Dorian complaining about the cold. Dorian didn’t take it personally. He did tend to talk a lot.

“And what about you? You’re from Par Vollen _and_ you’re not wearing a shirt. How are you not cold?” Dorian demanded to know from Iron Bull.

The Iron Bull grinned at him, “What’s the matter, Dorian? Your footsies are freezing again?”

Dorian glared at the Qunari and huffed, “Yes, they are, along with the rest of me. I’m practically a mage-cicle at this point.”

The Iron Bull wrapped his arms around Dorian and lifted him off the ground.

“What are you doing?!” Dorian yelped, squirming in the Bull’s embrace to no avail. The Qunari was built like a trunk and Dorian never had any hope of making any progress with his squirming.

“You said you were cold. I thought we could share body heat this way,” the Bull explained, completely unashamed.

Dorian exclaimed, “Why do you always have to make everything so….ugh!” He was still squirming. Maybe the Bull will get ticklish and let him go, even though Dorian knew very well that the Bull was not ticklish. Either that, or he was just very good at hiding it.

Trevelyan and Cassandra, who had finally stopped to watch the debacle with amused looks on their faces, just started laughing.

Dorian stopped squirming. “I will never live this down, will I?” he sighed.

Cassandra actually smirked and said simply, “No.”

“Just don’t tell Varric. He might actually write this down,” Dorian said.

Bull chuckled and nuzzled his cheek into Dorian’s hair.

Dorian yelped, “Okay, that’s taking it too far! Do not touch the hair!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the Bull said. He lifted Dorian slightly higher and kissed his cheek instead. “Are you warmer now, kadan?” the deep rumble of his tone reverberating throughout his body. Dorian finally relaxed against his body. He loved feeling that tremble of Bull’s deep voice when he was pressed against the Qunari.

Bull, probably sensing what Dorian was thinking, started humming in a low tone. “Kadan?” he asked again and Dorian remembered the question.

“Yes,” he muttered, “I am warmer now.” He turned his face into the crook of Bull’s neck. “Amatus,” he whispered into Bull’s ear, because he wasn’t like Bull; he couldn’t just announce to the whole world where his affections truly lied. No, this was something private, personal, _intimate_ ; something to be shared only between the two of them.

Dorian could feel Bull grinning from ear to ear. “I like the sound of that,” Bull said, his grin coming through in his voice.

Cassandra and Trevelyan had thankfully wandered off somewhere else, perhaps realizing that this exchange had gone from funny to incredibly awkward for them.

Dorian could only be grateful for the smaller things in life, he supposed.

Although, as the Bull finally set him down on mildly wobbly legs with a slap on his arse accompanied by Bull’s trademark chuckle, there were some things he wasn’t sure if he should be grateful for or not.

He shook his head. Best not to think too deeply about it.

 

**II.**

Dorian had to admit something. He couldn’t remember exactly the last time he had gotten a proper night’s sleep.

It wasn’t like he was purposely avoiding sleep. In fact, Dorian thinks of sleep as a luxury to be enjoyed to the fullest, when the fancy struck him. Which it often did.

It’s just that when he gets engrossed in his books or his research, he tended to forget about all the little things. Like the basic necessities of life. Like sleep, for example. It was all fine though, he was fine, he was still working through his research, _everything_ was fine.

Until he heard Bull’s voice.

“I thought I’d find you here,” the Bull said.

“You thought you’d find me at the library? Where I always am? One for the Bull, it seems,” Dorian said sarcastically, not even looking at him. His eyes were still trained on his books, going through the words. So many words.

“You haven’t come to the tavern in a while,” Bull said.

“I’ve been busy researching Corypheus’ lineage,” Dorian said impatiently. “I _will_ prove that he was nothing more than a boot shiner.” He didn’t go further into detail about how he felt like he needed to pull more of his weight around Skyhold, since everyone seems to think that he tricked Trevelyan into letting him stay. Undue influence on the Inquisitor….. _undue influence_ , how _dare_ they–

“When was the last time you slept?” Bull asked, interrupting Dorian’s self-righteous rant in his mind.

“Um……. Ah,” Dorian tried to come up with the answer for all of two seconds before giving up.

Bull sighed disapprovingly. He turned Dorian to face him. “You need to sleep,” Bull told him.

Dorian blinked at him. For a moment there, he thought he saw four horns on Bull.

“You might be right,” he conceded. He was pretty sure Bull only had two horns after all.

Bull gently led Dorian to the plush armchair Dorian had claimed as his own when they first arrived at Skyhold. Even though he had his own quarters with a much nicer bed somewhere else, he had spent countless nights in this armchair, devouring every book in Skyhold he deemed worthy.

Bull sat down heavily in the armchair and beckoned Dorian towards him. “Sleep,” he commanded.

Dorian glared balefully at him. He didn’t appreciate being treated like a child. But he was so tired and Bull’s lap looked so inviting.

He climbed onto Bull’s lap and curled into his embrace. “Good night, amatus,” he mumbled, already halfway to sleep.

Bull leaned down to kiss his forehead. “Good night, kadan.”

 

**III.**

This time it was the venatori they were fighting.

The Bull, Trevelyan and Cole had jumped straight into the fray and started stabbing and swinging their swords and daggers at them. So inelegant, but effective, Dorian supposed.

He threw a barrier over them, being in such close quarters with the enemy as they were. But he hadn’t noticed the rogue who had stealthily snuck around to his back. He certainly noticed though when the rogue slid her daggers into the back of his shoulder blades. He cried out, turning around by instinct to face his attacker. He stumbled when he turned, losing more blood than he’d expected. Suddenly the ground rushed up to meet him and his attacker stepped forward, ready to deliver the finishing blow.

Dorian gripped his staff even as he was on his back on the ground. He was not going to die here today, killed by venatori. He had imagined his death to be a lot more heroic, facing down Corypheus in a huge epic final battle. A frost spell was on the tip of his tongue, but before he could cast it, a huge axe cleaved the rogue’s head off. Dorian saw a look of utter shock frozen on the rogue’s face as her head flew off somewhere to the side.

“Dorian! You okay?” the Bull picked him up from the ground. Dorian casted the only healing spell he knew, a minor one, only enough to stanch the blood flow.

Trevelyan and Cole had finished off the rest of the venatori and came over to check up on Dorian.

“I’m fine. Stop mother-henning me,” Dorian said weakly, slumped in the Bull’s arms.

“He’s hurt,” Cole said, sounding quite distressed himself.

“We’re near a camp, I can get him there fast with my mount,” Trevelyan said, already summoning her beloved hart mount.

Bull placed him gently on the hart and Trevelyan got onto her mount. She rode off in the direction of the nearest camp.

When they got to the camp, Dorian was near losing consciousness and he was immediately whisked into one of the tents. A healer came over and started fussing over him. He almost wanted to protest out of habit, but realized he probably needed the help since he couldn’t even speak above a whisper. He could feel Trevelyan looming nearby – an impressive feat for someone of such diminutive stature as her. He closed his eyes, feeling safer. Somehow knowing Trevelyan was there made him feel that everything was going to turn out okay in the end, even if they had to go through a bumpy ride to get there.

He must have blacked out for quite some time because when he next came to, Trevelyan and the healer were both gone. Dorian tried sitting up gingerly and examined himself. His torso was bandaged and other than a dull pain in his back, he felt mostly fine. The healer probably gave him quite a lot of elfroot; he could still taste the lingering bitter aftertaste of the potion on his tongue.

Someone had left a flask next to the cot he was in. He grabbed it and uncorked it. A strong whiff of alcohol hit his nose. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. Well, he would have to remember to thank whoever it was who left this here. Dorian took a long sip from the flask, savoring the way the alcohol burned his throat and more importantly, the way it washed away the aftertaste of the elfroot potion. He’d like to think it helped to numb the pain more as well.

Just as he was corking the flask again, he heard the clanking of Bull’s leg brace a moment before the Bull opened the flap of the tent and peeked in.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Bull said, not really sounding very surprised.

Dorian put the flask down as Bull entered the tent. The huge Qunari had to bend down considerably to do so, careful to aim his horns down so as not to rip a hole at the top of the tent.

“The healer did a good job,” Dorian said, his voice still a little bit rough from the burning liquor.

Bull knelt down next to Dorian. “Will there be a scar?” Bull asked.

Dorian snorted, “I hope not, if the healer’s any good.”

“Scars are _cool_ ,” Bull said, as if he were a young schoolboy at a yard fight. Dorian rolled his eyes, not deigning to even reply to that. He grabbed the flask again and took another swig. He hummed in appreciation.

“That stuff’s good, isn’t it?” Bull asked, sitting down on the ground and folding his legs carefully so as not to jostle his leg brace too much.

“It certainly helps,” Dorian replied. He had suspected that the flask was from the Bull. Well, actually it had been a toss-up between the Bull and Cole, but Bull just confirmed his suspicions.

“Cole said he’s glad you didn’t die,” Bull said casually. Dorian raised one eyebrow. It often seemed like the Bull can read his mind… or at least pick up on parts of it.

“I’m too pretty to die,” Dorian said, the line rehearsed and repeated countless times by now.

The Bull chuckled. “Yeah, you are.”

Bull’s unexpected sincerity silenced the retort Dorian had already prepared in his mind. Dorian was used to verbal jousts, sharp barbs and witty ripostes. He did it so often that Dorian doesn’t so much have a conversation with someone than a long series of carefully crafted half-truths wrapped in his signature dry humour.

It was impossible with Bull because the Qunari refused to play along! The oaf always just spoke what was on his mind, a straight line charging through the minefield without a concern for personal consequences.

“Are you feeling okay? Do you need to rest?” Bull suddenly asked, a worry line creasing between his brows, another line to add onto his map of scars on his face. Dorian realized he had just been staring at Bull with a frown the entire time he’d been thinking.

“I’m fine, just fine,” Dorian said, raising both his hands above his head to prove his point. Or rather, he tried to, because it really did hurt when he did that – he had been overly optimistic about the healer’s work. He grunted with pain and dropped his arms.

Iron Bull had his arms around Dorian within a second. “Don’t strain yourself,” he chided, eyes roving for any other signs of pain or discomfort.

Dorian huffed in defeat. “Lay me down again,” he asked. The Bull hid a smile as he gently laid Dorian back down on the cot.

“Okay, I’m going to just let you rest now,” Bull said, getting to his feet.

“Wait,” Dorian blurted. The Bull stopped, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Just… stay with me for a bit. It is interminably boring by myself in this tent,” Dorian said, almost sheepishly.

The Iron Bull chuckled softly as he sat back down. “Did I ever tell you about the time the Chargers and I went giant-baiting?”

About four times actually, Dorian thought. But he didn’t stop The Iron Bull from re-telling his favourite story to him for the fifth time.

 

**IV.**

“Lord Pavus, a message for you.”

“Lord Pavus? Maker, I’m not my father,” Dorian joked, turning from his chosen task of re-arranging the books in the library to face the messenger.

“Apologies, serah. I was told to deliver this note to you,” the messenger said, holding out a note in her hands.

“Is it from Josephine again? Tell her I will not settle for less than fifteen bottles of the Nevarran red I _know_ she has in the hundreds in the cellar. She won’t miss fifteen bottles,” Dorian said, knowing that he’d eventually give in to Josephine… as long as it wasn’t less than eight bottles.

“No, this isn’t from Ambassador Josephine. This is from the Qunari in the tavern. Ser Iron Bull?” the messenger said, the note still in her hands.

“From Bull?” Dorian wondered out loud. He took the note from the messenger who bowed and left promptly.

He unfolded the note. It was written in Bull’s surprisingly neat and crisp handwriting. Or maybe it wasn’t so surprising; as a Ben-Hassrath, Bull often had to write reports back to the Qunari.

The note only had a short message: “Meet me at my room after supper.”

Bull probably wanted another session in the bedroom, Dorian thought. He looked at his books.

“Well, I could probably finish arranging this shelf before supper, at least,” he said to himself, picking up a stack of books to be put away.

During supper, there was no sight of Bull at the dining hall. Dorian paid no mind to this. Not everything Bull did or didn’t do had to revolve around Dorian after all.

He took his time with his supper, chatting with some of the Inquisition’s soldiers and workers. How far he had come from the pampered, oiled and primped lord’s son living in the lap of luxury with little care for anyone else but himself. If there’s one thing Dorian has learned since leaving Tevinter, it’s that those who are able and willing to change and adapt are the ones who survive. And Dorian had been determined to survive.

Dorian saw Krem come into the dining hall much later, just as he was about to finish his supper. Krem stood near the door for a while, seeming as if he was looking for someone. When he spotted Dorian looking at him, Krem averted his eyes and headed out of the dining hall.

No need to so blatantly avoid me, Dorian thought irritably. He always assumed Krem didn’t like him very much, what with him being an Altus mage who was doing the deed on a fairly regular basis with his boss. The man certainly didn’t talk to him much, although he had never outright avoided Dorian before.

Dropping off his dishes, Dorian decided maybe he shouldn’t keep the Bull waiting any longer. He put on his cloak and headed to the tavern.

The Chargers were at the tavern, rowdy as usual, although sans Bull. He caught Krem’s eyes, who smirked at him.

Now that’s just bordering on rude, Dorian thought. He had to admit, his feelings were a little hurt. He had never done anything to Krem personally. Why did the man dislike him so?

He headed upstairs, greeting Cole when he passed by the young man. Cole muttered something but Dorian only caught a bit of it. Something about “toiling and trying.” Dorian just moved on. He had learned that if it was truly anything of importance, Cole would not be muttering it to himself.

Bull’s door was locked. This was new. Dorian knocked gingerly.

No reply. Dorian knocked a bit louder. Still no reply. Did the oaf forget his own appointment? Dorian fumed. Just as he was about to give up and leave, Cole appeared next to him.

“Maker!” Dorian yelped. “Don’t do that, Cole! I could have thrown a fireball at you!”

“I already told you, Dorian, it wouldn’t hurt me. It’s friendly fire,” Cole replied.

Dorian just shook his head.

“I could help you unlock the door,” Cole offered.

“Oh, it’s fine, Cole. I was just about to leave,” Dorian said.

“But he’s waiting,” Cole insisted, already beginning to unlock the door.

“Cole!” Dorian protested, but the door swung ajar with a creak, Cole’s nimble fingers already unlocking the door.

Cole smiled, then wandered back to his usual place in a dark corner. Dorian sighed. Well, he might as well, since the door was already open. He pushed the door open wider, but before he could really see anything, something pushed the door shut, almost hitting him in the face.

Dorian whipped his head back in surprise. What in the Maker’s name just happened?

“Wait, sorry Dorian, just wait,” Bull’s muffled voice came from the other side of the door.

“What is going on, Bull?” Dorian demanded.

Silence. And then the Bull opened the door, his hulking frame filling up most of the doorway. “Hey, Dorian. You’re late,” Bull said, no real heat in his voice.

“You said after supper, and I came after my supper,” Dorian said.

“Okay, yeah, I did,” Bull said, nodding his head.

“So are you going to let me in or are we going to dawdle here all night?” Dorian asked, now very suspicious as to what Bull had planned.

Bull makes a startled noise and bumps his horns into the doorway, narrowly avoiding jamming them into the wood.

“So you were complaining about your freezing feet,” Bull started.

“…What have you done?” Dorian asked.

Bull shuffled away from the doorway to reveal what he had prepared.

Dorian raised his eyebrows and stared.

There was a small table in the middle of the room with two bottles of his favourite Nevarran red and a pile of small wrapped gifts. There were two chairs and at the foot of one of the chair, there was a bucket of what seemed like scented steaming water. Draped over the back of the chair was the fluffiest white cloth.

“I thought you might like it,” Bull said nervously, watching for Dorian’s reaction.

“Ah… this is… a lot of effort, Bull,” Dorian said.

“I thought I’d do something nice,” Bull said.

“For once,” Dorian joked.

“Hey, I’m always nice,” Bull said, sounding hurt.

Dorian felt bad; this was a very nice gesture from Bull. Dorian just wasn’t sure what Bull was expecting. Was this supposed to be – what, the next step in their relationship or something? Dorian isn’t completely oblivious; he’s realized they both care about each other a great deal.

“No, this is very nice,” Dorian admitted. He walked up to the table and picked up one of the gifts. Now that he was closer, he noticed that they were all badly wrapped, except the one he had picked up. It even had a little bow on the top.

“What are these?” Dorian asked, shaking one.

“Open it,” Bull said gently.

Dorian shook his head amusedly and tore open the one he was holding. It was a pair of socks, thick and warm and the ugliest shade of yellow Dorian had ever seen.

“This is… a surprise,” Dorian settled on being subtle.

“They’re all socks! In different colours!” Bull said excitedly, “I asked Krem to make them. He sews in his free time.”

“Did he choose the colours?”

“No, I chose them myself,” Bull said proudly.

Dorian winced internally, hoping the others were of better colours.

“Why are you doing this, Bull?” Dorian asked.

Bull shrugged, “I don’t know. Like I said, I just thought it’d be a nice thing to do.” He gestured at the chair with the foot bath. “Sit. That’s for you.”

Dorian sat in the chair and put his feet in the foot bath. It was absolutely divine, he had to admit.

Bull sat down in the chair next to his and began pouring the wine. He passed a glass to Dorian and took one for himself. He picked up one of the gifts, looking at it critically. “I didn’t have time to wrap all of them, so I got the Chargers to help. They’re all terrible gift wrappers and I’m going to give them a piece of my mind tomorrow.”

Dorian laughed, “Did you wrap the one with the bow?”

“Yes,” Bull said without a trace of humour.

“Oh. Well, don’t be too hard on the Chargers. At least they helped.”

Bull shrugged those huge shoulders of his again, “Of course they did. Krem even went looking for you when you took so long to show up.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Dorian said, “that’s why he left the dining hall when he saw me.”

The Iron Bull groaned, “That Krem does not know how to be subtle. And how did you manage to open a locked door, anyway?” Bull asked.

“That wasn’t me. It was Cole.”

“Damn it, Cole!” Bull bellowed. “I had fallen asleep waiting for you,” he admitted in a lower voice.

Dorian burst out laughing. He was truly enjoying himself. His feet were finally not freezing. He had a glass of wine in his hand. And he was with Bull.

He leaned over and pulled Bull’s face lower. “Thank you,” he said, kissing Bull’s cheek lightly.

Dorian thought he saw a tinge of pink on Bull’s cheek in the dark room.

 

**V.**

It had been painful, but then again, it has always been painful to talk about what happened with his father.

It wasn’t Cole’s fault, the poor boy was just trying to help. Dorian wanted to blame him, because it was a lot easier to put the blame on anyone else, but he just couldn’t find it in himself to blame Cole. Besides, Dorian had gone back to his quarters to find a wooden duck on his pillow and he was pretty sure it had been Cole who put it there, probably as a way to make amends.

So, no, it wasn’t Cole’s fault for bringing up Dorian’s father. Dorian just… needed to figure out how to be able to talk about his father without wanting to smash his head against a brick wall. Or cry, which seemed to be the more likely choice lately.

For right now, the next best thing he could think of was to drink until he wasn’t thinking about his father anymore. A brilliant idea, especially because the ale was so _disgustingly_ cheap at the Herald’s Rest. Probably because it also had a _disgusting_ taste, but Dorian had already committed himself to this idea and he was going to follow through.

He had gotten far enough that Cabot, the standoffish bartender whom Dorian actually enjoyed talking to on his better days, had just brought out his smallest cask of ale and left it in front of Dorian. “To be put on your tab,” Cabot had warned. Dorian had waved him off. Being in the Inquisitor’s inner circle had some perks, like actually getting paid a decent wage. That was something no one can find any fault with, right? He was earning his keep after all. He fought demons and red Templars at Emprise du Lion, for Maker’s sake.

Disgusting, he thought, as he poured himself more of the ale. Disgusting, he thought, as he downed half his mug of ale in one go. Disgusting, he thought, as he shook his head.

 _Sometimes love isn’t enough_.

It certainly wasn’t enough for his father to resist resorting to blood magic to change Dorian. It wasn’t enough for his father to accept him for who he was. And it will never be enough for Dorian to ever forgive his father for what he was willing to do to Dorian for the sake of his legacy and reputation.

It terrified Dorian though. Because if love isn’t enough…then what is? If love couldn’t stop his father from betraying him so fundamentally, what good is love for?

Without really thinking about it, Dorian’s mind drifted to thoughts of the Iron Bull. The implications of his own words scared Dorian because something was happening between the Bull and himself. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly and he didn’t want to know. He knew what kadan meant and the Bull knew what amatus meant.

But it didn’t have to mean anything if they didn’t want it to. Did they?

Questions, questions, so many questions, but did he really want the answers?

He was satisfied with the way things were with Bull. They had fun together and even Dorian was not so far in denial that he couldn’t admit they cared for each other. He’s admitted it before. But they had never really talked about things either, so Dorian was constantly reminding himself not to be surprised if one day he woke up and Bull was not in the bed next to him. So far, it hasn’t happened yet, but Dorian was prepared.

Dorian looked into his mug. Empty again. He reached for the cask, but a huge, grey hand pushed the cask away from him.

“Wha- ” his eyes traced the hand back to the owner of said hand. Of course it was the Iron Bull. Dorian was starting to think the Bull had telepathic powers, with the way he often turned up when Dorian needed him most.

“You’ve had quite a lot to drink,” Bull said, peering at Dorian with his one good eye.

“Yes,” Dorian agreed amiably, “but not quite enough yet.” Dorian reached out again to the cask. This time, Bull just shrugged and sat down next to Dorian.

“Cole just wants to help,” Bull said, gesturing for Cabot to bring him a mug of ale as well.

“I _know_ ,” Dorian said exasperatedly, his mug already filled to the brim. His inner monologue was quite excellent at dismantling his own feelings and he’d already made peace with Cole earlier on.

 “The kid doesn’t always know how to help.”

“Well, digging it out of the deep recesses of my mind certainly didn’t help,” Dorian said. He had told Bull about his father once, while they were in bed together, not doing anything, just lying together. The kind of intimacy Dorian once craved and feared at the same time. Ironic how he’s come to accept it as normal when done with a Qunari of all people. His life was one big cliché, it seems.

Bull had listened intently about Dorian’s father, not saying a word, but Dorian had felt Bull curl his arm around him protectively throughout his story. It had been comforting. It had felt safe.

“And drinking it away helps?” Bull asked lightly.

“Yes,” Dorian said. He leaned his head on Bull’s arm, “Cole left me a wooden duck. My father gave me a wooden duck toy when I was very, very young.” He didn’t know why he was telling Bull this. It was so irrelevant, but things were just coming out of his mouth and he couldn’t stop himself.

“I didn’t even like the wooden duck toy then. I was quite a spoiled brat, as you can imagine,” Dorian continued his story, “But that was probably the last thing my father gave me that did not come with an expectation from him.”

“You’re free from his expectations now,” Bull pointed out.

“Because I left. I ran away from his expectations. There is a difference,” Dorian said, closing his eyes. His head was still resting on Bull’s arm.

“No, there isn’t. Not really. The result is the same. You’re free from your father’s expectations,” Bull insisted.

“He certainly wouldn’t have _expected_ me to end up with a Qunari,” Dorian made an attempt at a joke, a smile ghosting on his lips. He was suddenly very sleepy. His last mug of ale was left forgotten on the table.

“I’m sleepy,” he announced. He tried to lift his head off Bull’s arm and stand up but he ended up almost tripping over the chair he was sitting on.

“Woah there,” Bull caught him before he fell flat on his arse. He straightened himself and tried to walk but the ground would not stay still. He stopped walking. “I don’t think I can walk back to my quarters,” he observed, frowning.

“No, you cannot,” Bull agreed. Bull scooped him up, bridal-style and if there had been more people in the tavern at this Maker-forsaken hour, Dorian would have demanded to be put down. But as it is, there were only some stragglers left in the tavern. And Krem, who nodded at Dorian in acknowledgement when Dorian glanced at him.

Feeling drunk and safe, a novel combination, Dorian started to giggle in Bull’s arms. Then he remembered Bull’s bad leg. “Will you be okay carrying me? Your leg-”

“My axe is heavier than you, vint,” Bull teased.

“Oh,” Dorian replied dumbly. Then he giggled again. Bull was probably never going to let him forget this in the morning, but right then he couldn’t care less.

Bull carried him up to his quarters just above the tavern. They passed by Cole on the way, who watched them nervously. “You’re good, Cole,” Dorian had shouted at him and Cole froze for a moment, before visibly relaxing.

 Gently, Bull laid Dorian down on his bed.

“This isn’t my bed,” Dorian complained.

“No, it isn’t,” Bull said amusedly. He got into bed on the other side and slid one of his arms under Dorian’s head. Dorian, who had been lying on his back, turned to his side to face Bull. He draped an arm over Bull’s chest and tucked his other arm in between his head and Bull’s arm. Bull radiated heat off his body like a furnace. Dorian understood now why Bull didn’t need to wear a shirt even in Emprise du Lion. Within seconds, he dozed off.

 

 

**+1**

Qunari dreadnoughts _don’t sink_.

But for a terrible moment on the cliffs of the Storm Coast, Bull seemed like he was going to sink and drown in the face of the consequences of what he had done. His usually expressive face, with the lines and ridges and scars, closed off. Dorian had been afraid for that terrible moment of what Bull might have done.

But Bull walked off to the nearest camp, ahead of everyone else, subdued and somber, so different and so jarring from his usual self.

He went straight to the training dummies the moment he got to camp. Trevelyan looked terrible too; she had been the one to truly make the decision. Dorian knew the guilt of seeing Bull like this was probably crushing her. But Cole was already by her side, doing what he does best: easing pain. Dorian knew what he had to do.

“Bull?” Dorian called out, wandering over the training ground. Everyone else had steered clear of it, probably thinking it was wise to avoid the rampaging Qunari. Dorian watched Bull demolish the training dummies one after another. This wasn’t the most well-stocked camp and Dorian estimated he was going to run out of training dummies very soon.

Dorian was right. Bull ran out of training dummies in no time. Bull let out a great bellow and charged at the last training dummy, cleaving it into two with one powerful swing.

“Are you feeling better?” Dorian asked, watching Bull panting.

Bull finally turned to face Dorian. “A little bit, yeah.”

“I’m sorry about what happened,” Dorian said.

“I’m not,” Bull interrupted. “I would have done the same thing over again. I would have saved the Chargers again.”

“Speaking of the Chargers, where are they?”

Bull waved a dismissive hand, “I told them to head straight back to Skyhold. They don’t need to see me like this.”

Dorian stood there silently for a bit, not really knowing what to say next. The Bull seemed content to just stand beside him silently too, glaring at the destroyed dummies.

“So what does this mean?” Dorian finally said.

The Bull didn’t reply for so long that Dorian thought he hadn’t heard the question. Then, “I’m Tal-Vashoth now.”

“Tal-Vashoth?” Dorian asked in surprise.

“Yeah, a Tal-Va-fucking-shoth,” Bull said. He kicked at one of the heads of the destroyed dummies. Both of them watched the straw head fly over the cliff.

“That’s not so bad, is it?” Dorian ventured, “I mean, you haven’t really been following the Qun for a while now.”

The Bull growled, “No, but I was still a Qunari. I was still Ben-Hassrath. I performed my duties. I was not Tal-Vashoth. I was not a savage.”

“You’re still not a savage!” Dorian said.

“We need the Qun to keep us in check, in control. Every Qunari I know who left the Qun turned Tal-Vashoth savage because it’s in our nature. Without our duties and discipline, we are nothing but savages,” Bull said. He kicked another dummy head over the cliff, “And now that I have nothing, how long before I become a savage?” he asked, seeming to be talking to the sea than to Dorian.

“You have the Chargers,” Dorian insisted, “you have the Inquisition. Trevelyan would probably either die or kill you if you left her now.”

That finally elicited a laugh from Bull. “That’s true. I wouldn’t want to cross her.”

“And you have me, you big oaf,” Dorian made a show of huffing in annoyance.  

Bull laughed as he scooped Dorian up in his arms, leaning down to kiss Dorian. “I can live with that, I think,” Bull said.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I need to apologize for that sickeningly saccharine sweet happy ending, because I felt embarrassed just writing it. It was actually worse before I changed it. I can't help it, I just love happy endings, especially for characters who've been through so much. I get enough angst from canon already!


End file.
